Daily Archives: April 18, 2019

William Blake: not an eccentric but a man ahead of his century…


William Blake

https://g.co/kgs/Jxej8g

http://www.londontown.com/LondonStreets/poland_street_e6e.html/

The Pickering Manuscript

The Pickering Manuscript (c. 1801–3)
by William Blake

The Smile→

Chapters(not individually listed)

The Smile

The Golden Net

The Mental Traveller

The Land of Dreams

Mary

The Crystal Cabinet

The Grey Monk

Auguries of Innocence

Long John Brown & Little Mary Bell

William Bond

This work was published before January 1, 1924, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.

The Pickering Manuscript/Auguries of Innocence

< The Pickering Manuscript

For other versions of this work, see Auguries of Innocence.

←The Grey Monk

The Pickering Manuscriptby William Blake
Auguries of Innocence

Long John Brown & Little Mary Bell→

Auguries of Innocence

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house fill’d with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro’ all its regions.
A dog starv’d at his master’s gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm’d for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf’s and lion’s howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer, wand’ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus’d breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher’s knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won’t believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever’s fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov’d by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov’d
Shall never be by woman lov’d.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider’s enmity.
He who torments the chafer’s sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother’s grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar’s dog and widow’s cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer’s song
Poison gets from slander’s tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy’s foot.
The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist’s jealousy.
The prince’s robes and beggar’s rags
Are toadstools on the miser’s bags.
A truth that’s told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro’ the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Throughout all these human lands;
Tools were made and born were hands,
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright,
And return’d to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven’s shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar’s rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier, arm’d with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer’s sun.
The poor man’s farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric’s shore.
One mite wrung from the lab’rer’s hands
Shall buy and sell the miser’s lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant’s faith
Shall be mock’d in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne’er get out.
He who respects the infant’s faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child’s toys and the old man’s reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar’s laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour’s iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket’s cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet’s inch and eagle’s mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne’er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They’d immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation’s fate.
The harlot’s cry from street to street
Shall weave old England’s winding-sheet.
The winner’s shout, the loser’s curse,
Dance before dead England’s hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro’ the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day. Continue reading

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Watch “William Blake: Poet, Artist, Eccentric Genius” on YouTube


Watch “Ippolitov-Ivanov – Caucasian Sketches Suite No. 1” on YouTube


Watch “Borodin, In the Steppes of Central Asia, Polovtsian dances (Svetlanov)” on YouTube


Watch “Smetana: Má Vlast / Kubelík Czech Philharmonic Orchestra (1991 Movie Japan Live)” on YouTube. ( If music doesn’t unite people from foreign lands what else would? Music is our last hope for uniting people from everywhere, in the unique gesture of love, universal ! )


What I think:  “If music doesn’t unite people from foreign lands what else would?
Music is our last hope for uniting people from everywhere, in the unique gesture of love, universal !”

Work TitleMá vlastAlt. TitleMy Country / Ma Patrie / Mein VaterlandName TranslationsMá Vlast; Ma patrie; Моя Родина; 나의 조국; מולדתי; [6 more…]Name AliasesLa Moldau; Ma Vlast; Vltava; Mi patria; Ma vlast; [9 more…]AuthoritiesWorldCat; Wikipedia; VIAF: 186316643; LCCN: n81059079; GND: 300149573; BNF: 139193726ComposerSmetana, BedřichOp./Cat. No.JB 1:112, T.110–111, T.113–114, T.120–121I-Cat. No.IBS 36Mov’ts/Sec’s6 symphonic poems:

Vyšehrad (The High Castle)

Vltava (Die Moldau)

Šárka

From Bohemian Fields and Groves
(Z českých luhů a hájů / Aus Böhmens Hain und Flur)

Tábor

Blaník

Y/D of Comp.1872–79https://imslp.org/wiki/M%C3%A1_Vlast,JB_1:112(Smetana,_Bed%C5%99ich)

Watch “Top 10 Tap Dancers of All Time” on YouTube


Watch “”All That Jazz” — complete scene “I just wish you weren’t so generous with your…”” on YouTube


Watch “”All That Jazz” — complete scene “I just wish you weren’t so generous with your…”” on YouTube


Watch “Apple at Work — The Underdogs” on YouTube


Watch “Shot on iPhone XS — Don’t mess with Mother — Apple” on YouTube


In Bad Company, and other Stories/Bush Hospitality ( and many other interesting short stories)


https://en.m.wikisource.org/wiki/In_Bad_Company,_and_other_Stories/Bush_Hospitality

en.m.wikisource.org
In Bad Company, and other Stories/Bush Hospitality
12-16 minutes

BUSH HOSPITALITY

In the pioneer period of the pastoral industry, which has since known such phenomenal development and, alas! no less phenomenal declension, the hospitality of the dwellers in the wilderness was proverbially free and unchallenged. But even then there were ‘metes and bounds.’ Like Colonial society—though apparently ‘a free and a fetterless thing’—there were lines of demarcation. These, though unsubstantial and shadowy to superficial observers, were nevertheless discovered by experiment to be strangely hard and fast. Continue reading

My photos of the Seventies and Early Eighties from Breaza, Busteni, along the Prahova-Water-Bed, Grasses….(AKA AS THE GOOD OLD TIMES!) OHHHH AND THE UNIQUE “BOUCHE QUE DIT SHHHHHHHHTTTTT! (BELONGING TO THE VERY TALENTED pretty little liers—Aria—AKA LUCY HALE) LOVE THAT SHHHHTTTT, DO YOU?